


The Wind's Whistled Call

by Lychenthrope



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics), World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Backstory, Character building, Combat, May become a full story?, Other, Semi-Lore friendly?, Some headcanons may apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lychenthrope/pseuds/Lychenthrope
Summary: Gilneas, shut off from the world from the threat of the Scourge, was now under new threats- The Northgate Rebellions, and the Worgen curse, leaving forces spread thin and tensions high. Though, another threat may yet loom- one Kieran Sincere, aided by warlock-enhanced Kul'tiran summons cards. Posing as a jack of all trades hunter, he may have something deeper up his sleeve.
Relationships: Jerissa & Sincere (Friends with Business-fits)





	The Wind's Whistled Call

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure what I'd like to do with this yet. All I know is that I'd like to make this a stable start to this guy's story, and well, I feel like it may be interesting to some. Either way, if this becomes a series, I hope I can figure out where to go! I've never been good with this stuff. :(

_It was the first night of the settling winter._  
  
Cold had set in like the threads of fabric, weaving through blood and bone and chilling a man quicker than a mage with a frostbolt. Alone, in a small home just placed in the thicket of wood by Emberstone, near the hills where gryphons roost and where the wall looms ever dark, was sat a man- None other than Kieran Sincere, some random bloke lucky enough to be placed inside. Although he'd just barely made it into the confines of the safety of the wrought iron and chiseled stone, he still couldn't help but be a bit infuriated. His brothers, sisters, siblings in country and soul were at eachother's throats like wild dogs, looking for nothing more than some lost glory. He'd join the damn rebels- a death wish if there ever were one- if it weren't for his self-preservation working for once, telling him finally that he wasn't any hero.

He wasn't. That was true. All he did was hunt, carve wood, and sometimes sing.. lie, mostly. And he guessed he was good with cards. Not playing cards, no, nor Hearthstone, yet a special breed. He supposed some could see them as tarot, but they were not. They had the style, sure, but there were Seventy-Seven Main Powers, and of course a plethora of minor. But they weren't fortune, no. They had the ability to conjure, to summon, and allow the command of demons...? He had no clue what to call them. They were created beasts, made of anything from flesh to raw materials such as wicker, and from what he knew, they seemed Kul'Tiran in origin. Upon their faces were various art, listing their suits and a bunch of the beasts themselves. They were currently tucked away in an ornate, lovely wooden box, made to hang at the hip and open to draw them as easily as possible. Each of these took energy, took power to use, of course, and he'd really only been able to use one at a time, but it was enough.   
  
Stretching his arms, he strode about the home, cooking himself dinner as well as preparing for the hunt tomorrow. That's when the knocking started. Large, loud, and metal. Plate gauntlets barged at his door, practically bending the wood. A sigh left him as he moved to inspect, looking through a crack in the rotted planks. 

"What do you want?" he barks, voice cold and clearly filled to the brim with exhaustion.

"We're here to draft. All men of the house _must_ report to Greymane's Royal Command at once." The voice sounded like it came from some dunce.

"I've retired," he lies, moving away from the door. "With a medal, no less! Out with you." 

Sincere sat beside the hearth, eating and waiting for them to burst in. A card was already pinched between his fingers, thrown and becoming a lesser succubus in a matter of moments. Tall, hooved, horned, whipping tail and accentuated curves- she really was the perfect silhouette. The eagerly hungry glint in her ashen eyes and the whip ready in hand said enough. Ah, this succubus really had become his best friend, hadn't she? He guessed that could be a little sad, but they'd never done anything besides drink, kill, and act as friends would, really. She was his right-hand woman. 

"Jerissa," he purrs fondly, smirk parting his lips as he looks to her. "Eager to get to work, I see. The others leave you to starve?" 

"Quiet, you," she can't help but grin, "I've been waiting. You always give me such... varied feed." 

"Of course," he chuckles. "Only the most diverse for you, my dear." 

The air was thick with sarcasm and anticipation, and soon enough, the door was nothing more than fragments cast upon the floor. Three guards in royally done armor stood ready, swords and shields drawn and held ready for the fight ahead. They were soon to kneel, however, as the succubus' stride alone brought them to their knees. A devilish grin parts her lips as she looks down at them, whip promptly wrapping about the first man's throat and pulling him closer, fel energies coursing and branding the man's neck- he couldn't even scream, her gaze alone leaving him paralyzed. 

"You seem like a fun toy," her tongue flicks over her fangs. "Rich made, clearly, but shiny tin-plate does not the man make..." 

The soldier seemed to try cowering, only getting choked and branded deeper in the process. Blood dripped from his lips.

"I'll take you," she nods, snapping her fingers and watching as he was flicked into a pocket dimension. The other soldiers' eyes widened. One teared up.

"Now, boys, don't cry.." She pouts, wiping the tears off the man's cheek, watching giddily as she makes a lovely mark.

A clawed finger flicks the other one just below the chin, forcing his mouth to open. She places a finger upon his tongue before her claw pierces it, and promptly tears it out. "How kind of you to bring me such a lovely gift," she purrs, before promptly placing it in her pants. ..It's better not to ask where it goes.  
  
It's an hour's time before she's done with her torture, all the while Sincere sips at his wine and eats calmly as if there was never torture happening in front of him. To be fair, he couldn't care less. It was her method, and what his lovely, dear friend did wasn't his responsibility. What _was_ his responsibility, however, was the mess. He sighs, looking to the blood and fragmented felstones upon the floor. Dismissing her, he moves to clean up, taking the stones and placing them in his pouch- a gift from his dear Jerissa, of course. A power source, so she can 'drop by anytime', as it were. He rolls his eyes out of habit, looking for his broom. Well, he guessed he'd have to wait for more visitors.


End file.
